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THE DEAR DEPARTED 

(STANLEY HOUGHTON) 

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THE DEAR DEPARTED 



THE 
DEAR DEPARTED 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 



By 
STANLEY HOUGHTON 



Copyright, 19 io, by Samuel French, Ltd 



New York | London 

SAMUEL FRENCH ; SAMUEL FRENCH Ltd 

Publisher j 26 Southampton Street 

2S-30 WEST 38TH STREET ; STRAND 



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CCLD 2i>9'^9 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Slater -» 

Mrs. Jordan / (Sisters. 

Henry Slater 1 

Ben Jordan 

Victoria Slater (.-I gii'l of ten.) 

Abel Merryweather. 



r {Their husbands.) 



The action, fakes place in a provincial toivn on a Saturday 
afternoon. 

Produced at the Gaiety Theatre, Manchester, by Miss 
Horniman's Company on November 2, 1908, with the follow- 
ing cast : — 

Mrs. Slater Ada King. 

Victoria Slater Enid Meek. 

Henry Slater Henry Austin. 

Mrs. Jordan Louise Holbrook. 

Ben Jordan Joseph A. Keogh. 

Abel Merryweather Edward Lander. 



Any costumes or wigs required for the production of "The 
Dear Departed" may be hired or purchased reasonably from 
Messrs. C. H. Fox, Ltd., 27, Welhngton Street, Strand, London 










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THE DEAR DEPARTED 

(Note. — The terms " Left " and " Right " in the 
stage directions refer to the spectator's left and 
right, not the actor's.) 

The scene is the sitting-room of a small house in a 
lower middle-class district of a provincial toivn. 
On the spectator's left is the ivindow, with the blinds 
down. A sofa is in front of it. On his right is a 
fireplace with an armchair by it. In the middle of 
the wall facing the spectator is the door into the pas- 
sage. To the left of the door a cheap, shabby chest 
of drawers, to the right a sideboard. In the middle 
of the room is the table, with chairs round it. Orna- 
ments and a cheap American clock are on the mantel- 
piece, in the hearth a kettle. By the sideboard a pair 
of gaudy new carpet slippers. The table is partly 
laid for tea, and the necessaries for the meal are on 
the sideboard, as also are copies of an evening paper 
and of " Tit-Bits " and " Pearson's Weekly." Turn- 
ing to the left through the door takes you to the front 
door; to the right, upstairs. In the passage a hat- 
stand is visible. 

When the curtain rises Mrs. Slater is seen laying 
the table. She is a vigorous, plump, red-faced 
vulgar woman, prepared to do any amount of straight 
talking to get her oivn way. She is in black, but 
not in complete mourning. She listens a moment 
and then goes to the window, opens it and calls into 
the street. 



8 THE DEAR DEPARTED, 

Mrs. Slater {sharply). Victoria, Victoria ! D'ye 
hear ? Come in, will you ? 

(Mrs. Slater closes window and puts the blind straight 
and then returns to her ivork at the table. Victoria, 
a precocious girl of ten, dressed in colours, enters. 

Mrs. S. I'm amazed at you, Victoria ; I really 
am. How you can be gallivanting about in the 
street with your grandfather lying dead and cold 
upstairs I don't know. Be off now, and change 
your dress before your Aunt Elizabeth and your 
Uncle Ben come. It would never do for them to 
find you in colours. 

Victoria. What are they coming for ? They 
haven't been here for ages. 

Mrs. S. They're coming to talk over poor grand- 
pa's affairs. Your father sent them a telegram as 
soon as we found he was dead. {A noise is heard.) 
Good gracious, that's never them. (Mrs. Slater 
hurries to the door and opens it.) No, thank goodness ! 
it's only your father. 

(Henry Slater, a stooping, heavy man with a drooping 
moustache, enters. He is wearing a black tail coat, 
grey trousers, a black tie and a bolder hat. He 
carries a little paper parcel.) 

Henry. Not come yet, eh ? 

Mrs. S. You can see they haven't, can't you. 
Now, Victoria, be off upstairs and that quick. Put 
your white frock on with a black sash. (Victoria 
goes out.) 

Mrs. S. {to Henry). I'm not satisfied, but it's 
the best we can do till our new black's ready, and 
Ben and Ehzabeth will never have thought about 
mourning yet, so we'll outshine them there. (Henry 
sits in the armchair by the fire.) Get your boots off, 
Henry ; Ehzabeth's that prying she notices the least 
speck of dirt. 

Henry. I'm wondering if they'll come at all. 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 9 

When you and Elizabeth quarrelled she said she'd 
never set foot in your house again. 

Mrs. S. She'll come fast enough after her share 
of what grandfather's left. You know how hard 
she can be when she hkes. Where she gets it from 
I can't tell. 

(Mrs. Slater unwraps the parcel Henry has brought. 
It contains sliced tongue, which she puts on a dish 
on the table.) 

Henry. I suppose it's in the family. 

Mrs. S. What do you mean by that, Henry 
Slater ? 

Henry. I was referring to your father, not to 
you. Where are my slippers ? 

Mrs. S. In the kitchen ; but you want a new 
pair, those old ones are nearly worn out. {Nearly 
breaking down.) You don't seem to realize what it's 
costing me to bear up like I am doing. My heart's 
fit to break when I see the little trifles that belonged 
to grandfather lying around, and think he'll never 
use them again. (Briskly.) Here ! you'd better 
wear these slippers of grandfather's now. It's lucky 
he'd just got a new pair. 

Henry. They'll be very small for me, my dear, 

Mrs. S. They'll stretch, won't they ? I'm not 
going to have them wasted. [She has finished laying 
the table.) Henry, I've been thinking about that 
bureau of grandfather's that's in his bedroom. You 
know I always wanted to have it after he died. 

Henry. You must arrange with Elizabeth when 
you're dividing things up. 

Mrs. S. Ehzabeth's that sharp she'll see I'm 
after it, and she'll drive a hard bargain over it. Eh, 
what it is to have a low money-grubbing spirit ! 

Henry. Perhaps she's got her eye on the bureau 
as well. 

Mrs. S. She's never been here since grandfather 



JO THE DEAR DEPARTED. 

bought it. If it was only down here instead of in 
his room, she'd never guess it wasn't our own. 

Henry {startled). Ameha ! {He rises.) 

Mrs. S. Henry, why shouldn't we bring that 
bureau down here now. We could do it before they 
come. 

Henry {stupefied). I wouldn't care to. 

Mrs. S. Don't look so daft. Why not ? 

Henry. It doesn't seem delicate, somehow. 

Mrs. H. We could put that shabby old chest of 
drawers upstairs where the bureau is now. Elizabeth 
could have that and welcome. I've always wanted 
to get rid of it. {She points to the drawers.) 

Henry. Suppose they come when we're doing it. 

Mrs. S. I'll fasten the front door. Get your 
coat off, Henry ; we'll change it. 
(Mrs. Slater goes out to fasten the front door. 

Henry takes his coat off. Mrs. Slater reap- 
pears.) 

Mrs. S. I'll run up and move the chairs out of 
the way. 

(Victoria appears, dressed according to her mother's 
instructions.) 

Vic. Will you fasten my frock up the ])ack, 
mother ? 

Mrs. S. I'm busy ; get your father to do it. 

(Mrs. Slater hurries upstairs, and Henry fastens 
the frock.) 

Vic. What have you got your coat off for, father ? 

Henry. Mother and me is going to bring grand- 
father's bureau down here. 

Vic. {after a moment's thought). Are we pinching 
it before Aunt Elizabeth comes ? 

Henry {shocked). No, my child. Grandpa gave 
it your mother before he died. 

Vic. This morning ? 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 11 

Henry. Yes. 

Vic. Ah ! He was drunk this morning. 
Henry. Hush ; you mustn't ever say he was 
drunk, now. 

(Henry has fastened the frock, and Mrs. Slater 

appears carrying a handsome clock under her arm.) 

Mrs. S. I thought I'd fetch this down as well. 
{She puts it on the mantelpiece.) Our clock's worth 
nothing and this always appealed to me. 

Vic. That's grandpa's clock. 

Mrs. S. Chut ! Be quiet ! It's ours now. Come, 
Henry, lift your end. Victoria, don't breathe a word 
to your aunt about the clock and the bureau. 

{They carry the chest of drainers through the doorway.) 

Vic. {to herself). I thought we'd pinched them. 

{After a short pause there is a sharp knock at the front 
door.) 

Mrs. S. {from upstairs). Victoria, if that's your 
aunt and uncle you're not to open the door. 

(Victoria peeps through the ivindoiv.) 

Vic. Mother, it's them ! 

Mrs. S. You're not to open the door till I come 

down. {Knocking repeated.) Let them knock away. 

{There is a heavy humping noise.) Mind the wall, 

Henry. 

(Henry and Mrs. Slater, t^^ry/io/ and flushed, stagger 
in with a pretty old-fashioned bureau containing a 
locked desk. They put it where the chest of drawers 
was, and straighten the ornaments, etc. The knocking 
is repeated.) 

Mrs. S. That was a near thing. Open the door, 
Victoria. Now, Henry, get your coat on. {She 
helps him.) 

Henry. Did we knock much plaster off the wall ? 



12 THE DEAR DEPARTED, 

Mrs. S. Never mind the plaster. Do I look all 
right ? {Straightening her hair at the glass.) Just 
watch Ehzabeth's face when she sees we're all in half 
mourning. (Throiving him " Tit-Bits.") Take this 
and sit down. Try and look as if we'd been waiting 
for them. 

(Henry sits in the armchair and Mrs. Slater le/t of 
table. They read ostentatiously. Victoria ushers in 
Ben and Mrs. Jordan. The latter is a stout, com- 
placeni woman with an impassive face and an irritating 
air of being always right. She is loearing a complete 
and deadly outfit of new mourning crowned by a great 
black hat with plumes. Ben is also in complete 
new mourning, with black gloves and a band round 
his hat. He is rather a jolly little man, accustomed 
to be humorous, but at present trying to adapt 
himself to the regrettable occasion. He has a bright, 
chirpy little voice. Mrs. Jordan sails into the 
room and solemnly goes straight to Mrs. Slater and 
kisses her. The men shake hands. Mrs. Jordan 
kisses Henry. Ben kisses Mrs. Slater. Not a 
word is spoken. Mrs. Slater furtively inspects 
the neiv mourning.) 

Mrs. Jordan. Well, Amelia, and so he's " gone " 
at last. 

Mrs. S. Yes, he's gone. He was seventy-two a 
fortnight last Sunday. 

{She sniffs back a tear, Mrs. Jordan sits on the left 
of the table. Mrs. Slater on the right. Henry 
in the armchair. Ben on the sofa with Victoria 
near him.) 

Ben {chirpily). Now, Ameha, you mustn't give 
way. We've all got to die some time or other. It 
might have been worse. 

Mrs. S. I don't see how. 

Ben. It might have been one of us. 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 13 

Henry. It's taken you a long time to get here, 
Elizabeth. 

Mrs. J. Oh, I couldn't do it. 1 really couldn't 
do it. 

Mrs. S. {suspiciously). Couldn't do what ? 

Mrs. J. I couldn't start without getting the 
mourning. {Glancing at her sister.) 

Mrs. S. We've ordered ours, you may be sure. 
{Acidly.) I never could fancy buying ready-made 
things. 

Mrs. J. No ? For myself it's such a relief to 
get into the black. And now perhaps you'll tell us 
all about it. What did the doctor say ? 

Mrs. S. Oh, he's not been near yet. 

Mrs. J. Not been near ? 

Ben {in the same breath). Didn't you send for 
him at once ? 

Mrs. S. Of course I did. Do you take me for a 
fool ? I sent Henry at once for Dr. Pringle, but he 
was out. 

Ben. You should have gone for another. Eh, 
EUza ? 

Mrs. J. Oh, yes. It's a fatal mistake. 

Mrs. S. Pringle attended him when he was alive 
and Pringle shall attend him when he's dead. That's 
professional etiquette. 

Ben. Well, you know your own business best, 
but 

Mrs. J. Yes — it's a fatal mistake. 

Mrs. S. Don't talk so silly, Elizabeth. What 
good could a doctor have done ? 

Mrs. J. Look at the many cases of persons being 
restored to life hours after they were thought to be 
" gone." 

Henry. That's when they've been drowned. 
Your father wasn't drowned, Ehzabeth. 

Ben {humorously). There wasn't much fear of 
that. If there was one thing he couldn't bear it was 
water. 



14 THE DEAR DEPARTED. 

[He laughs, but no one else does.) 

Mrs. J. {pained). Ben ! (Ben is crushed at 
once.) 

Mrs. S. {piqued). I'm sure he washed regular 
enough. 

Mrs. J. If he did take a drop too much at thnes, 
we'll not dwell on that, now. 

Mrs. S. Father had been " merry " this morning. 
He went out soon after breakfast to pay his insur- 
ance. 

Ben. My word, it's a good thing he did. 

Mrs. J. He always was thoughtful in that way. 
He was too honourable to have " gone " without 
paying his premium. 

Mrs. S. Well, he must have gone round to the 
Ring-o' -Bells afterwards, for he came in as merry as 
a sandboy. I says, " We're only waiting Henry to 
start dinner." " Dinner," he says, " I don't want 
no dinner, I'm going to bed ! " 

Ben [shaking his head). Ah ! Dear, dear. 

Henry. And when I came in I found him undi^essed 
sure enough and snug in bed. (He rises and stands 
on the hearthrug.) 

Mrs. J. {definitely). Yes, he'd had a " warning." 
I'm sure of that. Did he know you ? 

Henry. Yes. He spoke to me. 

Mrs. J. Did he say he'd had a " warning" ? 

Henry. No. He said, " Henry, would you 
mind taking my boots off ; I forgot before I got into 
bed." 

Mrs. J. He must have been wandering. 

Henry. No, he'd got 'em on all right. 

Mrs. S. And when we'd finished dinner I thought 
I'd take up a bit of something on a tray. He was 
lying there for all the world as if he was asleep, so 
I put the tray down on the bureau — {correcting 
herself) on the chest of drawers — and went to waken 
him. (.4 pause.) He was quite cold. 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 15 

Henry. Then I heard Amelia calHng for me, 

and I ran upstairs. 

Mrs. S. Of course we could do nothing. 

Mrs. J. He was " gone " ? 

Henry. There wasn't any doubt. 

Mrs. J. I always knew he'd go sudden in the 
end. 

{A pause, they icipe their eyes and sniff back tears.) 

Mrs. S. {yising briskly at length ; in a businesslike 
tone). Well, will you go up and look at him now, 
or shall we have tea ? 

Mrs. J. What do you say, Ben ? 

Ben. I'm not particular. 

Mrs. J. {surveying the table). Well then, if the 
kettle's nearly ready we may as well have tea first. 

(Mrs. Slater puts the kettle on the fire and gets tea 
ready.) 

Henry. One thing we may as well decide now ; 
the announcement in the papers. 

Mrs. J. I was thinking of that. What would 
you put ? 

Mrs. S. At the residence of his daughter, 235, 
Upper Cornbank Street, etc. 

Henry. You wouldn't care for a bit of poetry ? 

Mrs. J. I hke " Never Forgotten." It's refined. 

Henry. Yes, but it's rather soon for that. 

Ben. You couldn't very well have forgot him 
the day after. 

Mrs. S. I always fancy " A loving husband, a 
kind father, and a faithful friend." 

Ben {doubtfully). Do you think that's right ? 

Henry. I don't think it matters whether it's 
right or not. 

Mrs. J. No, it's more for the look of the thing. 

Henry. I saw a verse in The Evening News 
yesterday. Proper poetry it was. It rhymed. 
{He gets the paper and reads) 



16 THE DEAR DEPARTED. 

" Despised and forgotten by some you may be 
But the spot that contains you is sacred to we." 

Mrs. J. That'll never do. You don't say " Sacred 
to we." 

Henry. It's in the paper. 

Mrs. S. You wouldn't say it if you were speaking 
properly, but it's different in poetry. 

Henry. Poetic license, you know. 

Mrs. J. No, that'll never do. We want a verse 
that says how much we loved him and refers to all 
his good qualities and says what a heavy loss we've 
had. 

Mrs. S. You want a whole poem. That'll cost 
a good lot. 

Mrs. J. Well, we'll think about it after tea, and 
then we'll look through his bits of things and make 
a list of them. There's all the furniture in his room. 

Henry. There's no jewellery or valuables of that 
sort. 

Mrs. J. Except his gold watch. He promised 
that to our Jimmy. 

Mrs. S. Promised your Jimmy ! I never heard 
of that. 

Mrs. J. Oh, but he did, Ameha, when he was 
living with us. He was very fond of Jimmy. 

Mrs. S. Well. {Amazed.) I don't know ! 

Ben. Anyhow, there's his insurance money. 
Have you got the receipt for the premium he paid 
this morning ? 

Mrs. S. I've not seen it. 

(Victoria jumps up fvom the sofa and comes behind 
the table.) 

Vic. Mother, I don't think grandpa went to pay 
his insurance this morning. 

Mrs. S. He went- out. 

Vic. Yes, but he didn't go into the town. He 
met old Mr. Tattersall down the street, and they 
went off part St. Philips's Church. 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 17 

Mrs. S. To the Ring-o' -Bells, I'll be bound. 

Ben. The Ring-o' -Bells ? 

Mrs. S. That public-house that John Shorrock's 
widow keeps. He is always hanging about there. 
Oh, if he hasn't paid it 

Ben. Do you think he hasn't paid it ? Was it 
overdue ? 

Mrs. S. I should think it was overdue. 

Mrs. J. Something tells me he's not paid it. 
I've a " warning," I know it ; he's not paid it. 

Ben. The drunken old beggar. 

Mrs. J. He's done it on purpose, just to annoy us. 

Mrs. S. After all I've done for him, having to put 
up with him in the house these three years. It's 
nothing short of swindling. 

Mrs. J. I had to put up with him for five years. 

Mrs. S. And you were trying to turn him over 
to us all the time. 

Henry. But we don't know for certain that he's 
not paid the premium. 

Mrs. J. I do. It's come over me all at once 
that he hasn't. 

Mrs. S. Victoria, run upstairs and fetch that 
bunch of kevs that's on your grandpa's dressing 
table. 

Vic. {timidlv). In grandpa's room ? 

Mrs. S. Yes. 

Vic. I — I don't like to. 

Mrs. S. Don't talk so silly. There's no one can 
hurt you. 

(Victoria goes out reluctantly .) 

We'll see if he's locked the receipt up in the bureau. 

Ben. In where ? In this thing ? {He rises 
and examines it.) 

Mrs. J. {also rising). Where did you pick that 
up, Ameha ? It's new since last I was here. 

{They examine it closely.) 



18 THE DEAR DEPARTED. 

Mrs. S. Oh — Henry picked it up one day. 

Mrs. J. I like it. It's artistic. Did you buy 
it at an auction ? 

Henry. Eh ? Where did I buy it, AmeHa ? 

Mrs. J. Yes, at an auction. 

Ben {disparagingly). Oh, second-hand. 

Mrs. J. Don't show your ignorance, Ben. All 
artistic things are second-hand. Look at those old 
masters. 

(Victoria returns, very scared. She closes the door 
after her.) 

Vic. Mother ! Mother ! 
Mrs. S. What is it, child ? 
Vic. Grandpa's getting up. 
Ben. What ? 

Mrs. S. What do you say ? 
Vic. Grandpa's getting up. 
Mrs. J. The child's crazy. 

Mrs. S. Don't talk so silly. Don't you know 
your grandpa's dead ? 

Vic. No, no ; he's getting up. I saw him. 

[They are transfixed with amazement ; Ben and Mrs. 
Jordan left of table ; Victoria clings to Mrs. 
Slater, right of table ; Henry near fireplace.) 

Mrs. J. You'd better go up and see for yourself, 
Amelia. 

Mrs. S. Here — come with me, Henry. 

(Henry draws back terrified.) 

Ben {suddenly). Hist ! Listen. 

{They look at the door. A slight chuckling is heard 
outside. The door opens, revealing an old man clad 
in a faded but gay dressing-gown. He is in his 
stockinged feet. Although over seventy he is vigorous 
and well coloured ; his bright, malicious eyes twinkle 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 19 

under his heavy, reddish-grey eyebrows. He is 
obviously either grandfather Abel Merryweather 

or else his ghost.) 

Abel. What's the matter with Httle Vicky ? 
[He sees Ben and Mrs. Jordan.) Hello ! What 
brings you here ? How's yourself, Ben ? 

(Abel thrusts his hand at Ben, ie>ho skips back smartly 
and retreats ivith Mrs. Jordan to a safe distance 
beloia the sofa.) 

Mrs. S. {approaching Abel gingerly). Grand- 
father, is that you ? {She pokes him with her hand 
to see if he is solid.) 

Abel. Of course it's me. Don't do that, 'Melia, 
What the devil do you mean by this tomfoolery ? 

Mrs. S. {to the others). He's not dead. 

Ben. Doesn't seem like it. 

Abel {irritated by the whispering). You've kept 
away long enough, Lizzie ; and now you've come j^ou 
don't seem over-pleased to see me. 

Mrs. J. You took us by surprise, father. Are 
you keeping quite well ? 

Abel {trying to catch the words). Eh ? What ? 

Mrs. J. Are you quite well ? 

Abel. Ay, I'm right enough but for a bit of a 
headache. I wouldn't mind betting that I'm not 
the first in this house to be carried to the cemetery. 
I always think Henry there looks none too healthy. 

Mrs. J. Well I never ! (Abel crosses to the 
armchair and Henry gets out of hisivay to the front 
of the table.) 

Abel. 'Meha, what the dickens did I do with 
my new slippers ? 

Mrs. S. {confused). Aren't they by the hearth, 
grandfather ? 

Abel. I don't see them. {Observing Henry 
trying to remove the slippers.) Why, you've got 'em 
on, Henry. 



20 THE DEAR DEPARTED, 

Mrs. S. {promptly). I told him to put them on 
to stretch them, they were that new and hard. 
Now, Henry. 

(Mrs. Slater snatclies the slippers front Henry and 
gives them to Abel, ivho puts them on and sits in 
armchair.) 

Mrs. J. [to Ben). Well, I don't call that delicate, 
stepping into a dead man's shoes in such haste. 

(Henry goes up to the u'indow and pulls up the blind.) 

Victoria rtms across to Abel and sits on the floor 

at his feet.) 

Vic. Oh, grandpa, I'm so glad you're not dead, 

Mrs. S. {in a vindictive whisper). Hold your 
tongue, Victoria. 

Abel. Eh ? What's that ? Who's gone dead ? 

Mrs, S. {loudly). Victoria says she's sorry about 
your head. 

Abel. Ah, thank you, Vicky, but I'm feeling 
better. 

Mrs. S. {to Mrs. J.) He's so fond of Victoria. 

Mrs J. {to Mrs. S.). Yes; he's fond of our 
Jimmy, too. 

Mrs. S. You'd better ask him if he promised 
your Jimmy his gold watch. 

Mrs. J. {disconcerted). I couldn't just now. I 
don't feel equal to it. 

Abel. Why, Ben, you're in mourning ! And 
Lizzie too. And 'Melia, and Henry and little Vicky ! 
Who's gone dead ? It's some one in the family. 
{He chuckles.) 

Mrs. S. No one you know, father. A relation 
of Ben's. 

Abel. And what relation of Ben's ? 

Mrs. S, His brother. 

Ben {to Mrs. S.) Dang it, I never had one. 

Abel. Dear, dear. And what was his name, 
Ben? 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 21 

Ben {at a loss). Er — er. {He crosses io front of 
table.) 

Mrs. S. (r. of table) {prompting). Frederick. 

Mrs. J. (l. of table) {prompting). Albert. 

Ben. Er — Fred — Alb — Isaac. 

Abel. Isaac ? And where did your brother 
Isaac die ? 

Ben. In — er — in Australia. 

Abel. Dear, dear. He'd be older than you, 
eh? 

Ben. Yes, five year. 

Abel. Ay, ay. Are you going to the funeral ? 

Ben. Oh, yes. 

Mrs. S. and Mrs. J. No, no. 

Ben. No, of course not. {He retires to the left.) 

Abel {rising). Well, I suppose you've only been 
waiting for me to begin tea. I'm feeling hungry. 

Mrs. S. {taking up the kettle). I'll make tea. 

Abel. Come along, now ; sit you down and let's 
be jolly. 

(Abel sits at the head of the table, facing spectator. Ben 
and Mrs. Jordan on the left. Victoria brings a 
chair and sits by Abel. Mrs. Slater and Henry 
sit on the right. Both the women are next to Abel.) 

Mrs. S. Henry, give grandpa some tongue. 
Abel. Thank you. I'll make a start. {He 
helps himself to bread and butter.) 

(Henry serves the tongue and Mrs. Slater pours 
out tea. Only Abel eats with any heartiness.) 

Ben. Glad to see you've got an appetite, Mr. 
Merryweather, although you've not been so well. 

Abel. Nothing serious. I've been lying down 
for a bit. 

Mrs. S. Been to sleep, grandfather ? 

Abel. No, I've not been to sleep. 

Mrs. S. and Henry. Oh ! 

Abel {eating and drinking). I can't exactly call 



22 THE DEAR DEPARTED. 

everything to mind, but I remember I was a bit 
dazed, like. I couldn't move an inch, hand or foot. 

Ben. And could you see and hear, Mr. Merry- 
weather ? 

Abel. Yes, but I don't remember seeing any- 
thing particular. Mustard, Ben. (Ben passes the 
mustard.) 

Mrs. S. Of course not, grandfather. It was all 
your fancy. You must have been asleep. 

Abel {snappishly). I tell you I wasn't asleep, 
'Meha. Damn it, I ought to know. 

Mrs. J. Didn't you see Henry or AmeHa come 
into the room ? 

Abel {scratching his head). Now let me think 

Mrs. S. I wouldn't press him, Ehzabeth. Don't 
press him. 

Henry. No. I wouldn't worry him. 

Abel {suddenly recollecting). Ay, begad! 'Melia 
and Henry, what the devil did you mean by shifting 
my bureau out of my bedroom ? 

(Henry and Mrs. Slater are speechless.) 

D'you hear me ? Henry ! 'Melia ! 

Mrs. J. What bureau was that, father ? 

Abel. Why, my bureau, the one I bought 

Mrs. J. {pointing to the bureau). Was it that one, 
father ? 

Abel. Ah, that's it. What's it doing here ? 
Eh? 

{A pause. The clock on the mantelpiece strikes six. 
Every one looks at it.) 

Drat me if that isn't my clock, too. What the 
devil's been going on in this house ? 

{A slight pause.) 

Ben. Well, I'h be hanged. 

Mrs. J. {rising). I'll tell you what's been going 
on in this house, father. Nothing short of robbery. 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 23 

Mrs. S. Be quiet, Elizabeth. 

Mrs. J. I'll not be quiet. Oh, I call it double- 
faced. 

Henry. Now, now, Elizabeth. 

Mrs. J. And you, too. Are you such a poor 
creature that you must do every dirty thing she 
tells you ? 

]Mrs. S. {rising). Remember where you are, 
Elizabeth. 

Henry {rising). Come, come. No quarrelling. 

Ben {rising). My wife's every right to speak 
her own mind. 

Mrs. S. Then she can speak it outside, not here. 

x^BEL {rising). {Thumping the table.) Damn it 
all, will some one tell me what's been going on. 

Mrs. J. Yes, I will. I'll not see you robbed. 

Abel. Who's been robbing me ? 

Mrs. J. Amelia and Henry. They've stolen 
your clock and bureau. {Working herself up.) They 
sneaked into your room like a thief in the night and 
stole them after you were dead. 

Henry and Mrs. S. Hush ! Qaiet, Ehzabeth ! 

Mrs. J. I'll not be stopped. After you were 
dead, I say. 

Abel. After who was dead ? 

Mrs. J. You. 

Abel. But I'm not dead. 

Mrs. J. No, but they thought you were. 

{A pause. Abel gazes round at them.) 

Abel. Oho ! So that's why you're all in black 
to-day. You thought I was dead. {He chuckles.) 
That was a big mistake. {He sits and resum s his 
tea.) 

Mrs. S. {sobbing.) Grandfather. 

Abel. It didn't take you long to start dividing 
my things between you. 

Mrs. J. No, father; you mustn't think that. 



24 THE DEAR DEPARTED, 

Amelia was simply getting hold of them on her own 
account. 

Abel. You always were a keen one, AmeUa. I 
suppose you thought the will wasn't fair. 

Henry. Did you make a will ? 

Abel. Yes, it was locked up in the bureau. 

Mrs. J. And what was in it, father ? 

Abel. That doesn't matter now. I'm thinking 
of destroying it and making another. 

Mrs. S. {sobbing). Grandfather, you'll not be 
hard on me. 

Abel. I'll trouble you for another cup of tea, 
'Melia ; two lumps and plenty of milk. 

Mrs. S. With pleasure, grandfather. (5//^ pours 
out the tea.) 

Abel. I don't want to be hard on any one. I'll 
tell you what I'm going to do. Since your mother 
died, I've lived part of the time with you, 'Melia, 
and part with you, Lizzie. Well, I shall make a 
new will, leaving all my bits of things to whoever 
I'm living with when I die. How does that strike 
you? 

Henry. It's a bit of a lottery, like. 

Mrs. J. x\nd who do you intend to live with from 
now ? 

Abel {drinking his tea). I'm just coming to that. 

Mrs. J. You know, father, it's quite time you 
came to live with us again. We'd make you very 
comfortable. 

Mrs. S. No, he's not been with us as long as he 
was with you. 

Mrs. J. I may be wrong, but I don't think father 
will fancy living on with you after what's happened 
to-day. 

Abel. So you"d like to have me again, Lizzie ? 

Mrs. J. You know we're ready for you to make 
your home with us for as long as you please. 

Abel. What do you say to that, 'MeHa ? 

Mrs. S. All I can say is that Elizabeth's changed 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 25 

her mind in the last two years. (Rising.) Grand- 
father, do you know what the quarrel between us 
was about ? 

Mrs. J. Amelia, don't be a fool; sit down. 

Mrs. S. No, if I'm not to have him, you shan't 
either. We quarrelled because Elizabeth said she 
wouldn't take you off our hands at any price. She 
said she'd had enough of you to last a life-time, and 
we'd got to keep you. 

Abel. It seems to me that neither of you has 
any cause to feel proud about the way you've treated 
me. 

Mrs. S. If I've done anything wrong, I'm sure 
I'm sorry for it. 

Mrs. J. x\nd I can't say more than that, too. 

Abel. It's a bit late to say it, now. You neither 
of you cared to put up with me. 

Mrs. S. and Mrs. J. No, no, grandfather. 

Abel, x^y, you both say that because of what 
I've told you about leaving my money. Well, since 
you don't want me I'll go to some one that does. 

Ben. Come, Mr. Merryweather, you've got to 
live with one of your daughters. 

Abel. I'll tell you what I've got to do. On 
Monday next I've got to do three things. I've got 
to go to the lawyer's and alter my will ; and I've 
got to go to the insurance ofhce and pay my premium ; 
and I've got to go to St. Phihps's Church and get 
married. 

Ben and Henry. What ! 

Mrs. J. Get married ! 

Mrs. S. He's out of his senses. 

(General consternation.) 

Abel. I say I'm going to get married. 

Mrs. S. Who to ? 

Abel. To Mrs. John Shorrocks who keeps the 
Ring-o' -Bells. We've had it fixed up a good while 
now, but I was keeping it for a pleasant surprise 



20 



THE DEAR DEPARTED. 



{He rises.) I felt I was a bit of a burden to you, so 
I found some one who'd think it a pleasure to look 
after me. We shall be very glad to see you at the 
ceremony. (He gets to the doov.) Till Monday, then. 
Twelve o'clock at St. Phihps's Church. [Opening 
the door.) It's a good thing you brought that bureau 
downstairs, 'Melia. It'll be handier to carry across 
to the Ring-o' -Bells on Monday. 

{He goes out.) 



(The Curtain falls.) 



Ji ' ' o Tannbu 




THE PLAYS OF R. C. CARTON. 

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LONDON: SAM U El FR 



DltlLlHril^G XIOOIMI. 




Only Kept in the laige ^ize, th« baclj scene is 13 fe^-t long and 9 feet high and ex- 
tends with the Wings and Bordeib to 20 feet long and Hi feet high In the centre 
is a French window, leading down to the ground, On the left wing is a fireplace 
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rawing Room Scene above 



FRENCH'S ACTING EDITIO^ 



1236 
2287 

2238 
2239 

2241) 
2241 

2242 
2213 
2244 



^ 



;245 
2246 
2247 

2243 
2249 
22&0 



VOLUME 150 

The Dentist 

Taken for Granted 

Just as Well 

Hogmany 

Pansy 

A Doctor's Engage- 
ments 

A Duet 

My Milliner's Bill, Is. 

My Aunt from Cali- 
fornia 

His Life for Hers 

The Meeting 

The Umbrella 
Duologue 

The Late Lamented 

Woman Triumphant 

Angelina's Lover 



VOLUME 151 

2251 Chrysanthemums 

2252 My Rrst Client 

2253 Punctured 

2254 Old Pals 

2265 Honeymoon Tragedy 

2256 Commission 

2257 Hal, the Highwayman 
2268 Dinner for Two 

2259 Ninth Waltz 

2260 Human Sport 

2261 Collaborators 

2262 Mere Man 

2263 Packing Up 

2264 Paying Guest 

2265 'Enery Brown 

VOLUME 162 

226(1 The JUt 

2267 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb 

2268 A Marriage Has Been 

Arranged 

2269 Carrots 

2270 Conversion of Nat 

Sturge 




22"^ CIeri( 
22'i'2 Aubr 

2273 Work 

2274 Twi 

2275 Bridt ^ ^^ . 

2276 That 014 678 240 1 

2277 Well iviatcaea 

2278 Maker of Men 

2279 Gutter of Time 

2280 Game of Chess 



'iiWd Kjection 

Lucinda 
2310 Uncle Dick's 



VOLUME 153 

2281 Mr. Steinmaiin'* 

Comer 

2282 Ella's Apology 

2283 Colour Sergeant 

2284 Helpless Couple 

2285 First Aid to the 

Wounded 

2286 Correct Thing 

2287 Their New Paying 

Guest 

2288 Domestic Entangle- 

ment 

2289 Salt of Life 

2290 Tims is Money 

2291 Wally and the Widow 

2292 Deceitful Miss Smiths 
2'93 Holly Tree Inn 

2294 Up-to-date 

2295 Bit of Old Chelsea 



VOLUME 154 
of 



the 



2296 Wrong Side 

Koad 

2297 The Open Door 

2298 Prima Donna (Pem- 

berton) 

2299 Lights Out (Pemberton) 

2300 Mirror of Time 

2301 Three Blind Mice 

(Muskerry) 

2302 Privy Council 

2303 Snowed up with a 

Duchess 



VOLUME 7 



2311 That Horrid: 

2312 Bardwell v. I#^ 

2313 House of Nigriw..fe- 

2314 Turtle Doves [der 

2315 Superior Miss Pellen- 

2316 His Good Genius 

2317 Martha Plays the Fairy 

2318 Dumb Cake 

2319 Proposing by Proxy 

2320 Phonnix 

2321 Boatswain's Mate 

2322 Filial Rehearsal 

2323 Two Aunts at a Time 

2324 Nelson Touch 

2325 Convict on the Hearth 

VOLUME 156 

2326 Grey Parrot 

2327 Ghostof Jerry Buiidler 

2328 Bishop's Candlesticks 

2329 Peacemaker 

2330 Changeling 

2331 Wire Entanglement 

2332 Pride of Regiment 

2333 "1588" 

2334 Man on the Kerb 

2335 O'Dowd 

2336 Impertinence of tl; 

Creature 

2337 Dramatist at Home 

2338 Martha the Sootlis ve 

2339 Old Martha Is. 

2340 All Through Martha 1- 



AN AMERICAN CITIZEN 
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AFFAIR 
BRACE OF PARTRIDGES 
BRIXTON BURGLARY 
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OASSILIS ENGAGEMENT 
CHARITY THAT BEGAN 

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DR. WAKE'S PATIENT 
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DERVELDT 
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